


powdered sugar

by cottagecorecorpse



Category: The Lorax (2012)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood and Injury, Cocaine, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drugs, Gen, Heavy Angst, Mild Blood, trama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24622180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cottagecorecorpse/pseuds/cottagecorecorpse
Summary: Was this really his life? he pondered. When did it all go downhill? How did it go from true happiness to consistent heavy drug abuse? The Once-ler is stressed out and decides to do cocaine, but it doesn't go as expected.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	powdered sugar

"I already f-f-fucked up every thing, why n-not my s-self."

"I just want to die."

"why why why c-can't I stop ruining e-every thing," he mutters as he lines up an ungodly amount of cocaine to feed his growing drug problem. It’s at least 100 dollars worth, it doesn't even matter how much it costs. He has more money than he will ever be able to spend. His eyes burn from crying, he’s sweating from withdrawal, and his old nicotine patch has long ran out and is peeling off.  
The Oncelers self-doubt had been rising and rising, even if he is the king of the consumer market. His mother and family were not helping, telling him they needed more and more. There was so much pressure on the young man on every front. His only true escape from the world of business, emotional abuse, and depression was the hard substance before him.

His mouth watered and his heartbeat quickened, the Once-ler knew he shouldn't do this, what would happen if his family found out about his growing cocaine problem? What would they do? He knows about his mother’s LSD and Meth addiction- but that's only because he supports her every need. He might be her son but he still manages her money.

He doesn't even feel bad about it. If his mother’s going to leech off him, then he should be able to see what his hard-earned cash was going toward. It was mostly god-awful expensive clothing, different kinds of plastic surgery, and drugs.

As his internal monologue slugged forward and fatigue slipped into his body, his movements slowed and his thoughts continued. He felt the emotional drain from his mother gripping his body. It made him want to break down, give up, weep; he didn't even really understand what he wanted, other than the sweet liberating feeling of chemicals in his bloodstream.

The Once-ler's drug lust filled him with renewed vigor and life. He took the 50 dollar bill that was pre-rolled for this amazing occasion into his large gloved hand. He pondered for a moment if this was really what he wanted in life.  
...Another wave of withdrawal crashed through him, making his blistering headache worse and a new wave of nausea and sweat slapped him in the face. This silences any doubt.  
He started reorganizing the long line of cocaine he had in front of him. ‘Til it was a clean, straight, perfect, line of sweet white ecstasy on his personal sprawling desk.

Moving closer, he picked up the hard scent of chemicals. He grimaced at the smell, but his mouth watered. Even with the harsh smell it didn't deter him. Plugging his left nostril as well as bringing the rolled up 50 to his nose and the cocaine, he took a deep breath before taking the plunge into the deep end. 

He slowly inhaled the fine angel dust. It burned harshly, though the pain wasn't as blinding anymore, as it once had been. The drug filled him with electric pleasure and euphoria as he continued to snort it.

"SNNNNNRRRRGTT" echoed off the large walls of his office. It made him shiver. Soon he would be lost in his own world where there were no problems, only warmth and happiness. The Once-ler made it about halfway through the line of cocaine before he let off. He desperately needed air. He let out a booming yell with a loud whoop of excitement as energy along with physical effects filled him.

The Once-ler decided he had reached the level of dysphoria he wanted. He quickly stood up and cleaned off the rest of the cocaine that was still resting on his desk. He swept it back into the large plastic bag he kept in the bottom right drawer of his desk.

The bright white dust clung to his gloves. His piercing blue eyes looked at it with interest and a renewed thirst for the drug. He wasn't planning on diving back into the wonderful, intoxicating substance so soon. He had no plans on overdosing; that would tarnish his business and reputation. As well as most likely kill him. Yes, he was clinically depressed, but he was fearful of dying because no matter how much money he had, there was no way to fix death. Yes, he fantasized with the thought of ending everything but he was to scared to actually do it.

With his half-assed attempt to clean up the evidence of the addiction he regrettably fed, he plopped back into his large chair with a hard grunt. His body felt as though it was sinking farther than it really was. Warm, blissful, ignorance filled him, making him jumpy yet hyper focused at the same time. 

Feeling the still rolled 50 dollar bill- that had somehow found its way back into his hand- he gently let it slip out of his strong grip. The Once-ler watched as it rolled away.

His rational thoughts slipped farther and farther from sight and straight out the window. “Being high on cocaine makes people feel different physically. Physical cocaine effects include a general feeling of stimulation”. He laughs at the thought. He finds it extremely funny his younger self and been so careful, so extremely scared to try the drug he had grown to love.

The young Oncie had loved himself so much, loved who he was... How that had shriveled and died. The only reason he had even started doing cocaine was because of his mother. "Oncie you’re slacking on the job, that doesn't make your momma money.” She had told him.

His mental health slowly deteriorated, until it was nothing. And it remained that way. Whims and selfish desires controlled him. He lost almost all self restraint in his daily life. Suicidal tendencies filled the place where "normality" used to be. Hard drug abuse filled the place his familial connections used to rest, even if there weren't any to begin with.

The continuous substance abuse and overworking had led him to this crazed addiction his mind has fallen into. 

The Once-ler feels his eyes roll in unexplained pleasure. the feelings of his skin heating and muscles weakening, filling every nerve in his long, lanky, body. The intoxication had taken an extreme route into hard sensations and a wandering mind.

As soon as the cocaine penetrated the Once-ler’s brain, it started preventing the dopamine from being recycled, causing excessive amounts to build up in the synapse, staving off any sense of hunger or anything else. Every feeling had been wiped from his body, other than warmth and fake happiness.

The Once-ler couldn't even register what he was looking at- they were just quick flashes. They made his eyes roll. He suddenly shifted in his extremely large chair until he was facing the never-ending window wall. He can’t comprehend what just happened. He went from looking at his wonderful desk to a complete sensory change. It was a bit overwhelming for the highly intoxicated businessman.

The scene before him was dark and dead. Just as he felt. He sensed his cocaine high shift from a warm, wonderful, stimulating feeling, to a depressing, cold, lifeless look into what he created. Feeling his breath pick up and fear fill him, his hands snaked up his body trying to grip something- anything! To bring him back into reality.

He heard himself hiccup and sob. Fresh tears fell from his eyes. The Once-ler felt his gloved fingers dig into the skin on his neck. Being so blissfully fucked up and drugged, he didn't even realize what he was doing to his tender, weak, flesh. He felt his pulse beneath his fingers but he didn't realize what was happening only that a blistering hot liquid was coating his neck and hands.

His mouth was suddenly dry, fat tears were rolling down his face. His fingers were still pressing deeper into his tissue. Even though the Once-ler was still highly intoxicated, he could finally understand pain and blood. But he continued ripping apart everything in his fingers’ way. Why couldn't he stop?! He bit harshly into his bottom lip, adding more to the leakage of blood his body was enduring. White-hot pain was finally overcoming intoxication. Survival instincts were thrashing beneath the young man’s burning-hot skin.

"F-fuck," he muttered out. He could barely comprehend the adrenaline and pain that was lacing its way inside his body. Euphoria and false security were nearly gone. His fingers were toying inside his wounds as they continued to release a steady leakage of dark blood. It smeared across his skin as it soaked his suit.  
He was no longer crying- more confused about his actions. His breath was hoarse and strangled as the tightness from his large hands pressed onwards around his windpipe. Hypersensitivity reclaimed his body once more as the drug’s affects started to work its way through his body with renewed vigor.

The Once-ler’s electric pleasure and euphoria snapped back into place as he slightly relaxed. Each one of his fingers, minus his thumbs, were lodged in his wounded neck. The young man could feel his own blood gush onto his fingers with each one of his erratic heartbeats. A metallic scent hit his nose as he focused on his blood.

He knew he couldn’t die from the gashes, so he didn’t really care that they were there. Just angry that they had messed up his high. The Once-ler toyed with the injuries as they leaked the warm liquid that allowed his body to function. His fingers retracted from the cuts and dropped to the arms of his chair.

Was this really his life? he pondered. When did it all go down-hill? How did it go from true happiness to consistent heavy drug abuse?

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank @smallestxfear on Instagram for helping me edit this. :)


End file.
